


Harems and Hens

by springgreen



Category: Chicken Run
Genre: Gen, Humor, Post-Canon, Yuletide, yuletide2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springgreen/pseuds/springgreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fetcher had decided a long time ago that if he ever had to go to the large rat den in the sky, it wouldn't be in yarn, much less pastel yarn.</p><p>No chicken sex involved, although speculations of it run rampant!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harems and Hens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cast Iron](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cast+Iron).



> Written for Cast Iron for Yuletide 2006. Many thanks to Minnow, Jinian, and Kate Nepveu for the beta!

Fetcher could never quite figure out how the island ended up overrun with chickens. Really, it made no sense. There were only two roosters and who knew how many hens, and he had always thought that the old rooster was too old to... Fetcher stopped. There were some things his mum hadn't told him, and Fetcher was certain that it was for a reason. He could have also sworn that the American rooster only went out with the ginger chicken. And yet, he could tell that certain chicks were the offspring of certain hens. He was clever like that, he was.

There was the group of chicks that talked in a way Fetcher could never decipher. Some days, he thought he almost understood them. But then, one would go off about things like "trajectories" or "subatomic particles" or "Bernoulli."

Nick told him that Bernoulli was a famous opera singer, which made sense. It sounded Italian, and everyone knew that the Italians were famous opera singers.

But then, given that they were obviously related to the Scottish hen, Fetcher couldn't understand why they were chattering on about Italian opera singers in the first place. They didn't seem all that musical to him.

When he asked Nick, Nick just shrugged and said, "Chicks. Can never tell what's going on in those fluffy heads."

And then there were the chicks who knocked him over every time he tried to play with them. "Disrespecting their uncle Fetcher," he muttered to himself several times.

At least they hadn't sat on him yet, unlike their mother. Fetcher quickly looked around to make sure none of those chicks or, for that matter, their mother was nearby.

And while he might not be the brightest rat around, he could tell which chicks were probably related to the fat brown hen, given that they were forever tripping over pieces of yarn and poking each other with giant pointy sticks.

He would have been more inclined to like them if they hadn't once nearly strangled him with some pastel yarn. Fetcher had decided a long time ago that if he ever had to go to the large rat den in the sky, it wouldn't be in yarn, much less pastel yarn.

But then, Rocky only snogged that ginger hen, though he still flirted with all of them. Fetcher was sure the snogging had to mean something. So how could it be?

He decided to ask Nick. Nick knew everything—French, rodent nature, science, tools. Nick would know.

"I was wondering," he began.

"What is it this time?" Nick said. "I told you, I'm not going to explain why the egg came first again."

Fetcher wasn't intimidated. He could tell that Nick liked to be the expert on things, no matter what he said.

"So... there's only two roosters here, yeah?" he started.

Nick looked at him. "Yeah, what of it?"

"And there are lots of hens. And lots and lots of chicks. So... how did that happen?"

Nick looked at him longer.

"It's obvious!" Nick said.

Fetcher sighed in relief. Of course Nick would know.

"He's got himself a harem!"

"What's a harem?"

"It's what Rocky has!"

"What's that?"

Nick sighed. "It's a lot of hens and just one rooster, you idiot. One of them Arabian ideas, that's what."

"Oh!" said Fetcher. Things were starting to make sense. "Rocky and that other rooster are Arabian!"

"No, you dolt! They're just, eh, pretending to be Arabian, is all."

Fetcher caught on. Nick was testing him! "Oh! Nick, there are two roosters. Does that count as a harem?"

Nick paused for just a second before replying. Possibly he was pleased by how quickly Fetcher caught on. "Well then, there must be two harems," he said as he started to wander off.

Fetcher was silent. Harems, huh? That sounded rather enjoyable. Although given the hens that Rocky associated with, he was probably henpecked all the time.

Fetcher smiled at his own joke.

"Hey, Nick," he said, deciding to share his brilliance, "that Rocky must be one henpecked rooster!"

Nick didn't seem to think it was as funny, for some reason. But then, Nick didn't often appreciate his cleverness.

"Hey, Nick," Fetcher said again, "so I was wondering. Which hens are in which harem?"

There was a long pause, during which Fetcher wondered if he had actually spoken out loud (sometimes he forgot to, which frustrated Nick), if Nick had heard, or if Nick didn't know the answer.

If it was the last, Fetcher would have to do something spectacular, as he'd never yet managed to find a question that had stumped Nick.

"It's obvious!" Nick said again.

Fetcher sighed in relief. His world was still in order.

"Well?" he asked when Nick didn't continue.

"Be patient!" said Nick. "I'm trying to remember all their names!"

"Why?" asked Fetcher. "I can't figure them out."

Nick glared at him. Obviously, he had said something wrong again.

"Come on, Nick," Fetcher said, wheedling.

Nick hemmed and hawed to himself a little more.

"Right then. That ginger one is obviously one of Rocky's," Nick began.

Fetcher looked up at Nick and nodded eagerly. Nick was so clever!

"And, er, that round brown one must be one of Rocky's as well," Nick continued.

"Why's that?" asked Fetcher.

Nick glared at him. "Because! Because... she keeps knitting him things!"

Fetcher nodded. Nick was right, of course. He did vaguely remember seeing Rocky stumble about, clad in pink and blue from coxcomb to claw.

"There!" said Nick.

"But what about the big one and the Scottish one?" Fetcher asked. He attempted to think of more hens, but when push came to shove, he found he could only distinguish four of the hens from the feathery, squawking crowd.

"What are you talking about?" asked Nick.

"You know! That big reddish one that nearly sat on you? And the one who plays the bagpipes all the time?"

"Oh. Them." Nick paused.

"Well..." Nick began, only to stop abruptly as a chicken with a green hat strode into view. Nick blanched, which Fetcher thought was really something, considering all his fur.

"And just what are you two troublemakers up to now?" Ginger asked.

"Oh, nothing at all," Nick said, just as Fetcher began, "Sorting out the harems!"

Ginger goggled at them.

"Harems?"

"That's Arabian!" Fetcher said, always glad to be helpful.

"Harems?!" Ginger repeated, this time with more volume.

Nick glared at Fetcher. Fetcher was getting rather good at deciphering Nick's glares. This one in particular seemed to be saying, "This is our golden opportunity to test out our theory!" And Fetcher was never one to pass up on golden opportunities.

"The rooster harems, of course!" Fetcher said, just as Nick's elbow accidentally slipped right into his stomach, resulting in much wheezing, gasping, and coughing.

Ginger glared at the two of them. Fetcher, unfortunately, was rubbish at deciphering her glares, so he decided to continue wheezing, gasping, and coughing and let Nick pick up the ball.

Surprisingly, Nick said nothing and started shoving Fetcher to the front. Fetcher thought it was extremely generous of Nick to let him have the spotlight, but he rather wished that Nick hadn't chosen precisely this moment.

Though he could never quite remember his exact words, Fetcher did know he managed to stammer out something involving the words "harem," "chicks," "hens," "lots," and "eh." This was because Ginger's response, which Fetcher would remember for the rest of his life, was:

"You think lots of chicks and hens means HAREMS?!"

It was really her expression that made it so memorable.

"Ehm," said Fetcher. Strangely, he couldn't find Nick. "Yes, possibly?"

"How in the world did you come up with that rubbish?"

"Well, Rocky—" Fetcher began, fully intending on going into the mathematics of two roosters, many hens, and even more chicks.

"Did Rocky say something?" asked Ginger, teeth gritted.

Fetcher would have said something about chickens with teeth, but Nick suddenly reappeared and started vehemently nodding at Fetcher. Fetcher vehemently nodded back, pretending like he knew what was going on and gratefully letting Nick take the lead.

"Well, miss, it's our policy to never reveal confidential information about our clients, y'see. Bad for business. This way, the clients feel all protected-like, builds trust and all," Nick said with his widest smile.

Ginger glared again. Fetcher found he was rapidly growing fluent in the language of Ginger's glares as well. He was fairly certain this one threatened impending doom.

"But if you insist, then yes-it-was-Rocky," Nick finished. Fetcher found himself being dragged through several bushes as Nick ran off.

"It wasn't Rocky, though, was it?" Fetcher said as soon as he was able to breathe again.

Nick grinned and rubbed his paws together.

"Rooster eggs," was all he said.

Fetcher grinned back. He could already see the feathers flying in the distance.

"Wanna watch?" he said to Nick.

"Yeah, all right."


End file.
